I Am Quite Concerned That I May Be Writing Romance

...not that I have anything against romance writers BUT that's
not what I set out to do. This little scene poured out of me today when I
realized I needed a transition between two other scenes...

Iris
hated the way her footsteps echoed across the lonely chamber. The high
ceiling stretched above her and Jesus watched her move down the aisle as
she held her cardigan wrapped tightly around herself. “You’re not
here,” she whispered to his image.

“Iris?”

She spun around to see Samuel standing at the back of the church.

“Iris,
what are you doing here?” He rushed down the aisle and took her hand,
leading her into one of the pews and gesturing for her to sit. “Why are
you here?” he asked again.

Iris tucked her hair behind her ear
and looked down on their hands, clasped together on Samuel’s thigh. “You
met my son,” she said.

“I did.”

“He wouldn’t understand.”

“He might.”

“Did you say anything to him?” she asked
.
“Nothing that would make him question you,” Samuel told her.

“I think he questions everything about me. He says he loves me but I worry that his love is really hate.”

“Impossible,”
Samuel said. “Iris, you’ve raised a good boy. He’s gentle and curious.
You should be able to trust him with your heart.”

“Do you trust me with yours?” she asked.

“Always,” he said, running his thumb around her palm. “And I’ll wait forever until you trust me with yours.”

She
felt a flush rise in her cheeks as he leaned towards her—a hurricane in
her chest at the thought of kissing him in his church. She tried to
turn her face but he caught it, gently moving it back and setting his
lips over hers—as soft as summertime.

“What are you afraid of, Iris?” he murmured against her skin, their foreheads bent together as if in mutual prayer.

“Losing everything,” she whispered. “Losing you both.”

“Impossible,” he said, kissing her again. “Absolutely impossible.”

“I hate it here,” she said, eyes flitting around the sanctuary.

“I know,” said Samuel. “But I love it here.” He set his hand over her heart. “And I love it here.”

Iris bit her lip and blinked back tears. “I know,” she whispered before falling into his kisses all over again.

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MEET ALANNA

Alanna lives on a small patch of untameable land in mid-western Ontario with her three children, husband, and an overweight cat. Fuelled by copious amounts of tea and chocolate, she writes fiction and creative non-fiction from within her tiny study.

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